


expiratory wheeze

by saltytangerine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Apart from the next fic I post where he will be the top, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, Heavy Petting, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, My Bucky is always a bottom Bucky, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sentimental, Soft Stucky, because tangerine only writes fluff so it seems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 21:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18432449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltytangerine/pseuds/saltytangerine
Summary: An [expiratory wheeze] is a type of breath sound that indicates a [constriction or collapse] of the lumen of the airways.“Why don't you pick up comics for me?” He turns his head and coughs again, his thin frame shaking against Bucky as he does. The cold damp air doesn't help, he feels like he needs to be dried out; he has dreams of visiting the desert, turning a wonderful shade of brown and growing in the sand like a cactus, strong and spiky.





	expiratory wheeze

**Author's Note:**

> IM injections are gross and I thank the lord every day for the introduction of intravenous therapy. As a thank you, have 5k of sweet fluffy pre-serum Steve and Bucky. It kinda creeps up to almost an M at one point so better to over-rate than under-rate? Like, Bucky is pretty much jerking Steve off. That's not a T right???

It has rained all week and with the damp in the air, it brings aches in Steve’s knees and a familiar rattle in bottom of his chest. Climbing the stairs to his apartment was enough to knock the breath out of him, and by Wednesday, his mother makes him promise that he will stay inside while she sleeps off night shifts at the hospital. His bedroom is bare and his bed is pulled away from the wall, so it sits in the middle of the room so the cold brick can’t chill him down to the bone. He doesn’t particularly care for school unless it’s a Tuesday and he’s free to draw or Thursdays when he has history. He has only one friend he cares to miss and Bucky Barnes has not had one single day absent from school since he caught measles at 8 and one day when he broke his arm at 12. Numbers fascinate him and metalwork and chemistry get him thrumming with excitement. His mind for science and math make him an excellent candidate for tutoring an artistically inclined Steven Rogers, and serves as an excuse for the pair to be even more inseparable than before.  
  
He’s almost asleep and his bedroom door is open, curtains drawn, when he hears the knocker on the front door sound. His mother is fast asleep, in the middle of a week of nights; she doesn’t rise until after four in the afternoon. He debates on rolling over and ignoring the knocking, but the sound didn't go away and in a stark moment of clarity, he recognizes the off-rhythm banging is from the only person he knows obnoxious enough to dedicate a knock to himself.  
  
“You're real inconsiderate, you know that?” Steve opens the door, his sweater a cast off from Bucky the year previous, the hem skirting the bottom of his boxers. His socks are thick and if he runs and leans his weight forward, he can slide all the way from one end of the kitchen to the door.

  
“The last time I came through the window, you nearly killed me.” Bucky stands on the doorstep, his coat collar pulled up high and holding a newspaper over his head. “Let me in, pal?”

  
“Yeah, I don't want anyone thinkin’ I converse with a goddamn drowned rat, come in.” He grabs the lapel of his coat and tugs, pulling Bucky in and closing the door. His cough makes him tense up, all the muscles in his neck and shoulders ache, leading to a hell of a tension headache. “Ma's asleep, so you gotta be quiet.”

  
Bucky nods and shrugs off his coat, shaking it out before hanging it on the peg, over Steve's. He slips his shoes off and nestles them against Steve's with a socked foot and his trousers are wet around the ankle. Corduroy soaks up the water quickly, making them heavy and slosh around his ankles. He glances back at Steve and grins. “No photos, please.” He shoots him a wink and his trousers come off next.

  
“Jesus, take everything off, why don't ya?” He coughs, and the sound is wet; Bucky once said it sounded like rolling rocks in a tumbler. His mother hasn’t been paid yet and there’s no coal left for the stove beyond the necessities. His favorite trick is to heat the stove up, cook, and then leave the door open while it winds down, filling the rooms, but today, the apartment is bitter and he’s still angry at Bucky for making him get out of his bed.

  
“It breaks my heart to hear you like that, champ…” He straightens up and for a moment, Steve thinks that he might hug him. Steve shrugs and he grabs Bucky's pants and hangs them over the back of the couch, avoiding looking at him standing there in his kitchen, half naked. He feels the start of a cough; sometimes he coughs too hard and when he takes his hand away, he sees blood, but he hasn't so far with this particular one. He makes sure the wrinkles on his pants are straightened out as they drape over the couch and he grimaces when Bucky hands him a pair of thick woolen socks too. They join the pants and Bucky mock shivers. “You eaten?”

  
“Yes.” He lies, going to the sink and getting water from the faucet. The glasses are chipped and on Sarah's list to replace, but every time they get close to having enough money for a new set, Steve falls ill. Bucky takes a swig from Steve’s glass and grins at him, perching himself on the edge of the bathtub, holding out the glass back out to him, offering him the rest of the glass, as if it were his own.

  
“Are you still hungry?”

  
“Nope.” He lies again, and he glances at the glass for a moment before taking a sip of the water. His stomach hurts from hunger, but eating triggers a cough and a full stomach with this kind of cough leads to vomiting. Steve hates being sick.

  
“C'mon then, I got a new book, wanna read it with me?” Bucky's eyes are bright and Steve envies the way he always looks excited when it comes to reading and learning. He wiggles his shoulders enticingly and motions to the bedroom.

  
“Are we six?”

  
“Well excuse me for wanting to spend time with my best guy.”

  
Steve's eyebrows shoot up and he shoves him; he hasn’t stopped grinning since he stepped in the apartment and usually it would make him smile in return, but while his head aches, it’s grating. He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, sighing heavily. “My ma is asleep just through that door, you asshole.”

  
“Please, your ma knows that you're my best guy ever since I cried over your dying body back in ‘29.” He rolls his eyes and smooths his damp hair back, raking his fingers through the dark strands; at least the weather makes the unnatural amount of hair on his head easier to manage. "My ma thinks I'm stayin' here until Sunday, so are you gonna take me in or am I gonna have to sleep under the fire escape again?"

  
“You're exhausting.” He sets the glass down and links his arm with Bucky's and all but drags him to his bedroom. His heart flutters when he calls him his best guy, so much so that he isn't sure if it isn’t just a palpitation. Bucky sits on his bed, in just his shirt and ugly knitted vest, his briefs hidden by the shirt tails. Over the summer, he grew another couple of inches and the sleeves he had to roll up are now fully unrolled. He closes the bedroom door and watches as Bucky pulls the vest over the top of his head and with the same amount of care as Steve expects, he folds it neatly and drops it on the end of the bed. “You look like a virgin disrobing.” He mutters.

  
“On the wedding night or before?” He takes his book from the bag and lays back on the bed, in his allocated side, by the window so Steve can't catch a chill, and pulls the covers back so Steve can climb in.

  
“I don't think you can wait until marriage.” He climbs in, and God, Bucky is warm. He lays on his side when Bucky lays on his back, and usually, he will face away from him, but he looks so inviting that he takes the hint from his outstretched arm and rests his head there. He sees him smile and he feels him adjust them both so Steve's head is resting on his chest, just under his chin. His arm is warm around him and without being prompted, he moves his left arm to pull the blankets up to just under his chin and when they're in the right place and comfortable, he drapes his arm over Bucky's waist. He doesn't care how bad it looks, how damned he is because Bucky is warm and gentle and makes him want to smile when he feels bad.

  
“Do you want me to read it to you?” He gently strokes Steve's upper arm through the sweater, but Steve can still feel the gentleness of his touch and it makes him feel guilty for wanting to turn him away earlier.

  
“Why don't you pick up comics for me?” He turns his head and coughs again, his thin frame shaking against Bucky as he does. The cold damp air doesn't help, he feels like he needs to be dried out; he has dreams of visiting the desert, turning a wonderful shade of brown and growing in the sand like a cactus, strong and spiky.

  
“Why don't you draw me a comic?” He holds him through the cough and offers comfort in the stroking of his back. He hears a wheeze and he hears a little gasp and then Steve's breathing returns to normal. He hates the extra noises that Steve's chest seems to make; he wishes that he could erase them from his lungs memory so they couldn't make any other noise but the gentle breaths that everyone else in the world makes. He anticipates the wheezes and coughs and as much as he hates them, at least an extra breath sound is not the absence of breath sounds.

  
“Read it to me.” He agrees and the small lamp by his bed is the only light in the room, orange and flickering. He feels Bucky nod and he keeps his arm around him while he opens the book and starts to read. His voice is soft, too soft for him to hear, but Steve thinks that the feeling of Bucky's chest rise and fall and the soft hum of his voice in his throat and chest is like white noise to him, enough to soothe him into the deepest sleep of the week.

  
Steve doesn't so much snore as he breathes loudly. Bucky loves it and clings to the the sound of his breathing when he wakes up in the middle of the night. They kissed for the first time in the summer, in the heatwave and since then, he has not even wanted to think about kissing another. Steve walks around with the memory of the kiss weighing him down. He guesses it's Catholic guilt and Bucky supposes he too would have religious guilt if he cared enough, but the warmth he feels when Steve smiles pushes out any type of guilt he ever could have.

  
Steve falls asleep soon after Bucky’s finished the first chapter and he glances at his watch and decides to toss his book on the floor, towards his open bag. With his hand finally free, he strokes back Steve’s hair from his forehead, his hands are bigger than his and when he rests his hand on his cheek, the heel of his hand along his jawline, his fingers reach up into his hair. His skin is always soft and he uses different soap than the block that sits in the Barnes’ household; with both arms around him, Bucky relaxes, tensing when he hears a sharp intake of breath or cough, never falling fully asleep.  
  
“Champ, I need to eat.” He whispers against Steve’s temple in the morning, untangling himself from his grip. When he’s out of the bed, he pulls the blankets higher around Steve and with a little bit of pushing, he tucks the edge of the blanket under his torso. Steve’s bedroom is empty apart from the bed and dresser, a small lamp on the side. He pulls open the bottom drawer, and to the back of the drawer, he finds the pair of slacks and shirt that he hid there in case of emergencies.  The shirt he fell asleep in is wrinkled and smells like Steve, but so does the clean one from where it's been nestled against the rest of Steve’s clean clothes. He unbuttons the old one and slips it off and tucks it into his bag, under the books. The shirt he keeps at Steve’s is a pale blue and the stitching around the collar and cuffs is done with a thicker thread, little dark blue dashes that frame him, and the top button disappeared after his mother took out her frustrations on the laundry. It’s soft and Steve mumbled once that he liked the color against Bucky’s skin, so if he is to wear it, he makes sure that it’s around him. The slacks are brown and he bought them from one of his customers on his paper route. _“My son used to be your size, boy, do you need any new clothes?”_ Yes, yes he did. The oldest child and the only son meant that he only got new clothes when the hems of his slacks reached mid shin and the buttons on his shirts strained.  
  
“I thought I heard you, James.” Sarah says when Bucky stumbles into the kitchen at 6am and she pours out two cups of coffee, one in her mug, the other in the mug that Bucky brought over in 4th grade, the mug that Steve then painted BUCKY on the underside. “Did he sleep?”

  
“Like the dead,” He rubs his eyes and unclips the suspenders from his drying trousers and attaches them to the brown ones, “it was pretty wet out there last night, sorry about the mess.”

  
“One more night shift to go, then I can look after him.” She's still wearing her uniform, starched perfectly and hat pinned securely among her blond curls. The shoes they make the nurses wear can’t be comfortable and Bucky is glad that he gets the privilege of wearing flat boots.

  
“I ain’t just comin’ over to look after him, Mrs Rogers; he’s my friend.” Bucky likes Sarah’s coffee; it’s sharp and she puts just enough sugar in to make it bearable. He’s used to not having milk; it’s not his bones that need all the help they can get. His second home is this apartment, Sarah his second mother and it feels wrong to call Steve his brother, but God knows that he will do anything for him. Sat in his parents apartment, with three sisters is claustrophobic and he just doesn't feel at home there; he hasn't since he was 12.

  
“And I’m very grateful to you.” Her accent is soft, at times you can barely hear the country she left behind, but when she’s tired her vowels become rounder and he has to ask her to repeat sentences. “Some boys outgrow their asthma, you know?”

  
“Is Steve gonna?” He’s hopeful, and he leans to the side, his hip pressed against the table.

  
“I hope so.” She sighs, bringing a hand to her forehead, covering her eyes. She exudes tiredness and when Bucky closes his arms around her and holds her small frame against his, it’s comforting. He’s tactile, he always has been, generous to hand out the encouraging hugs and gentle arm touches. Sarah thinks she might cry when Bucky pulls her in, but instead, she strokes his back gently, like a mother should.

 

* * *

 

  
“Don’t we have school?” Steve croaks when Bucky comes in with a mug of hot water. He can smell the honey from the bed and he wonders where the hell Bucky acquired _honey_ of all things.

  
“It’s a Saturday, and it’s near noon, I’ve already been out and done the paper route, done a couple deliveries; you got me all to yourself now.” Bucky sits on the bed and the frame squeaks quietly under his weight. “Sit up and have a drink, I managed to get some bread from Mr Strauss and you can have it with your soup later.”

  
“I swear, if you used your money-”

  
“Do you think I’m stupid enough to tell you anything I do with my life when you ain’t in it?” He helps Steve sit up and when he sits forward, he reaches behind him and folds the pillow and gently pushes Steve back so he's propped up somewhat. He puts the mug in Steve’s hands and closes his own hands over his. “Have a drink and hush up, or I’m gonna get your ma to sneak home a penicillin injection again.”

  
“Sometimes I don’t know who my ma is, her or the handsome dark haired guy who sneaks through my bedroom window at night.” He drinks anyway and leans in to Bucky’s hand when he cups the back of his neck.

  
“I only did that once.” He can’t stop himself from smiling and as tactile as he is, since the first kiss, he’s found it easier to have an excuse to keep kissing him, his cheek, his forehead. “I also went to the library, got us out a fancy picture book, seein’ as you don’t like my stories.”

“You can’t check out comics.” The honey water is soothing on his throat and his cough didn’t keep him awake all night. How much of it was due to sleeping with someone by his side, he doesn’t know, but if they sold Bucky Barnes and his arms as a therapy, he’d sell everything he owned to purchase him.

  
“I didn’t get a comic, but you'll like it.” Bucky says when Steve pushes the mug back into his hand. He sets it by the lamp and takes the book from the side. “America’s Wonders.”

  
Steve scrunches up his face and turns his head. “That looks like a school book.”

  
Bucky ignores him and climbs back into the bed and slips his legs under the blankets when Steve lifts the corner up for him; for the first time, Steve recognizes the shirt and he immediately rests his head on his chest. “Oh, you like the school book now?”

  
“You’re warm.” He mumbles, taking the book from him and opening it up. Bucky was right; the first page is a colored illustration of the Statue of Liberty, the green metal shaded with crosshatching in brown. Tiny ships in the distance welcomed by her torch, Steve could almost taste the salt in the air and feel the wind on his face.

“Like it now?” He mumbled, turning the page for Steve, stroking his side as they read the pages.

“I think I’m ready for another.” Steve looked up, still holding the book, a soft flush to his cheeks.

“Another what?” Bucky doesn’t look at him and turns the pages, settling on a two page spread of Niagara Falls. “Don’t you think it’s gotta be loud as hell, standin’ at the bottom of a waterfall?”

“Don’t make me say it.” Steve groaned, pushing his face against him.

“Stevie, you’re delirious, ain’t making sense.” The next page was of the Grand Canyon and Bucky couldn’t help but part his lips in a silent gasp of surprise at the picture. Red rocks and a winding blue river nestled between peaks as far as the eye could see. Heavy clouds rolled over the landscape, and Bucky wonders what it would be like to be caught in a storm that high above ground. “I still think you could draw better than this guy.”

“Kiss me.” He closes the book and pushes it to the side. Bucky’s arms are still around him, trapping him from moving much, but he manages to shift over so he's laying on his front, his chin resting on Bucky’s chest.

“You’re sick, sweetheart...” His voice drops to almost nothing and when Steve rests a hand on his cheek, his eyes close and he bites his lower lip. “You’re sick and I can’t.”

“It ain’t even a cough that brings anythin’ up, I never get you sick.” Steve says, his thumb brushing Bucky’s lip. “I wanna kiss you.”

"Don't bring up shit you may or may not be coughing up when you're tryin' to convince me to kiss you." Bucky has only ever denied Steve something he wants when it is saving him from a fist or sickness; like when he had to hold him back from diving into the icy East River in March, or when he pushed him into a doorway when Eric and Parker were looking for the boy that stole their jackets in October after they had stolen Steve’s. He weighs up his choices; he could kiss Steve, or he could deal with the biggest pout in New York state. “Promise me you’ll keep breathin’.”

“I thought I was dramatic—” Was all he could say before Bucky’s lips pressed against his, and to him, it was summer again. The memory of their first kiss was not as good as actually feeling Bucky kiss him again, in his small bedroom, them pressed against each other, Bucky’s vest scratchy on his arms. He tastes like honey when Bucky’s tongue pushes against his lips and over his own. He isn’t sure if the taste is sweeter than the memory and his hands are so gentle on his cheeks that Bucky feels like maybe it’s _his_ chest that is the problem because there’s something heavier than Steve Rogers sitting on it.

The bed is narrow and with one arm tight around Steve, Bucky manages to maneuver them so Steve’s back is pressed back into the mattress and he’s leaned over him. Unlike the summer, Bucky completely covers him, one thigh between Steve’s, and Steve’s arms around his neck. He feels the hitch in Steve’s breathing before Steve even thinks about pulling away and he rests his forehead against his.

“Is it always this good?” He mumbles, gasping quietly when Bucky’s hand grips the underside of his thigh.

“Only when it’s with someone who counts.”

 

* * *

 

He sleeps most of Sunday, and Bucky goes home after eating Sunday lunch with Sarah and trying to convince Steve to eat. The cough is clearing and Sarah doesn’t need to sneak home antibiotics— Steve is spared intramuscular injections that make his ass sore for days. She says he’s ready to go back to school on Tuesday, but he doesn’t want to. She tells him if he doesn’t, she’ll walk him to school herself.

  
  
Bucky takes his place on Steve's right side when they walk home after an uneventful day, he kept him out of trouble and out of sight of the boys likely to steal or pick fights. He drops his bag at his parents apartment before escorting Steve the rest of the way home. They sat next to each other as usual, shoulders touching through English class and during geography he nearly choked when Bucky put a hand on his thigh to grab his attention.

They reach the landing and Steve grabs Bucky's wrist, to get him to slow down. “I ain't ever seen two guy--”

“We'll start a trend.” Bucky shrugs and pushes the door open, holding it open for Steve.

“Not sure we _should_.” He takes off his scarf and tucks it in his front pocket. There’s extra money from the night shifts, Monday is Sarah’s payday, and the apartment is warm from the coal stove.  

“Mrs Rogers, I found this punk hanging around by the high school, I thought it best I brought him here for safekeeping.” He calls over Steve's shoulder as he takes his own jacket off. He waits until Steve hangs his coat off before putting his own one over it, in its usual place.

“Are you staying for dinner, young man?” Her back is to the pair, stirring whatever is in the pot on the burner and Steve lets out a huff of breath in amusement when he sits on the couch.

“Ma, this _young man_ practically lives here, he ain’t ever gonna give up a free meal.” He reaches up when Bucky still hasn’t sat beside him and closes his fingers around his wrist and gently tugs, cocking his head slightly to the empty space beside him.

“I will only eat it if you’re offerin’, Mrs Rogers.” Bucky sits beside him and while her back is turned, he puts his hand back on his thigh, the same place that made him gasp in class. He shakes his head when Steve opens his mouth to protest and instead, his eyes dart to Sarah by the stove and before she turns to face them, he steals a kiss from him, quick and on the border of _not_ being chaste. The brevity burns and Bucky wishes that he hadn’t done it because now all he wants to do is kiss him again and again.

“Go start on your reading in your room then. James, go with him and make sure he actually reads.” She points towards the narrow corridor with her spoon and glances back at them.

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’.” Steve hauls himself up and Bucky reluctantly lets go of his thigh, looking sad for a moment until his eyes catch the corridor and the door to Steve’s bedroom. Steve nods and grabs Bucky’s hand while Bucky grabs Steve’s bag.

“I’ll crack the whip, Mrs Rogers.” Bucky salutes her as he goes past, dragged along by Steve.  
  
“You’re eager to start readin’.” Bucky shuts the door and before he can step forward into the room fully, Steve is on him, his hands on either side of Bucky’s face, bringing him down so he can kiss him, hungry and as if he hasn’t just shaken off his cough.

His only aim in life so far is to make sure that Steve Rogers is the happiest he can be, so kissing him back is easy to do. For a boy who hasn’t kissed anyone before him, Steve kisses unapologetically, with all the effort and spunk buried inside his body. He spent hours thinking about kissing, about how he wouldn’t be able to know how to make the other person feel good, but as he kisses his best friend, he understands how to move, when to let Bucky take control. Bucky is warm against him, warm and broad compared to his slight figure and his grip is reassuring. He learns from the way Bucky suddenly surges forward when he tugs at the hair at the nape of his neck, he should remember to do that again. He turns his head away reluctantly and grips Steve’s upper arms, pushing him away gently. “Give me a chance here, Stevie.”

  
His cheeks are red and he can feel the warmth from his cheeks seeping up to his ears when Bucky guides them both to the bed, and he wonders if Bucky ever felt awkward or embarrassed while in the arms of another. He lays down when Bucky pushes him and he licks his lips nervously when he leans over him, still sat on the edge of the bed. “Ma’ll take forever, we can do other things until she checks up on my readin’.” He whispers, his chest full as Bucky plays with his hair. He’s secure, safe and happy while at Bucky’s side.

“We can do whatever you want.” He kisses his cheek and when Steve takes it upon himself to turn his head, he doesn’t mind that their lips meet and he kisses him again, sliding his hands down along his sides and pulling his shirt out from under his waistband. He rakes his fingernails along Steve’s waist and he can’t think of anything else he would rather be doing than being in this bedroom with Steve Rogers. He wants to touch; he knows that Steve isn’t the image of a man that makes most women weak at the knees, but Bucky isn’t most women and Steve has consistently made him weak at the knees almost every day since August 12th 1933. Under his touch, he feels like _Steve_ , he isn’t soft in the same places that Bonnie is, nor is he hard in places that Derek was, instead, he blows them out of the water; to Bucky Barnes, Steve is perfect.

He isn’t sure how long they’ve been making out and he didn't know that kissing his neck would feel as breathtaking as his lips, but Steve’s hands are under Bucky’s shirt and the memory of Bucky moaning into his mouth when he ran his right hand over his nipple will be forever burned into his mind. Their bodies aren’t foreign to the other; when they first met they were still in grade school and shared baths were still acceptable. They know every inch of each other and Steve grips more than Bucky expected when he grabs the back of his thigh, just below the curve of his rear. He wishes he had the courage to go beneath Bucky's trousers; he wants to make him feel as good as he does when he touches himself to the thought of him. He hears Bucky gasp against his neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there and then feels his hand move from his waist to dip below the waistband of his slacks, and rest over his rapidly filling cock, covered by briefs and squeeze him gently. “You wanna fight fire with fire, huh, Rogers?”

  
He shudders at his words, and is almost lost in grinding up into his touch, his breath coming hard and fast, chasing some kind of relief and so close to reaching it until Bucky pulls away as if he’s been burned and drops to the floor, on his knees. “Buck?”

  
“Your ma,” he hisses, ripping open his bag and grabbing the book and putting it in his hands, “just because you can’t hear her, it don’t mean she ain’t comin—”

  
“What’s the subject?” Sarah opens the door and peeks just her head in, looking between the two.

  
“History of the National Parks.” Bucky blurts out and sits beside a very red cheeked Steve, who holds the book awkwardly on his lap. All their desire dissipates as his mother stands in the doorway, watching them struggle to answer simple questions. 

  
“Yeah, we’re on—” He glances down at the page and purses his lips at the photo of the prismatic spring. “—Yellowstone. D’you know it was the first park?”  

  
She looks suspicious and Bucky bites the inside of his cheek to stop his heart from racing. “Dinner’ll be up in ten, ok? Finish the chapter and come wash up.” Steve has her smile and she blows a kiss at Steve to evoke a reaction before leaving.

  
“When we're older, I'm gonna take you away, we'll go see mountains, lakes, gold in the sand.” He says in a long exhale, kissing Steve's shoulder.

  
“I’ll scale those mountains twice as fast as you.”

  
“I'll carry you then, stop breakin’ my heart. It's a romantic gesture.” Bucky claps a hand over his chest, clutching at his shirt. He grins and falls back into the pillows unceremoniously and when Steve rolls his eyes, he pulls him back by the waistband of his slacks.

  
“You wouldn't be able to carry me.” Steve says, his eyes flicking to where Bucky had grabbed his slacks. “I mean, sure, you might be strong. But I'm stronger.”

  
“You're a shit.” Bucky pushes his hair away from his eyes and he can see the hunger in Steve, but he also knows that he’s probably right; he is stronger than him.


End file.
